Sunday, July 11, 2004

It can't rain all the time.

I can't try to be funny all the time either. Well, actually I do try to be funny almost all the time. So here's my first attempt at something else.

I got punched the night before I got married. I'm still not sure why he hit me. It wasn't like he punched me in the face or anything, but rumor has it that this it how it went down. Someone bumped me, I spilled water on my best man, and the next thing I knew it I got punched. Shortly after that I felt the need to throw up. Go figure.

I've always been a big believer in signs. If you're going to start writing and your computer crashes, it probably won't be your best day. If work calls you ten seconds after you wake up, it's not going to be a good day. If it's 98 degrees outside with 99% humidity on the day you get married, there might be someone hinting to the bride that this might not be the ideal guy to hitch on to long term. If weather like that occurs in the coldest city in the continental United States, it might be time to get a lawyer on speed dial.

For some reason, that I have yet to understand, Sarah still went through with it. That was seven years ago, tomorrow.

I know everyone, for good or bad, says that they remember everything about their wedding day. I'll be the first to admit that I can't remember it all.

Sometimes I have a hard time remembering parts about last week, so I figure that there is a good part of my brain that is missing. Either that or it's clogged up with some other crucial information like how many homers Ben Ogilvie hit on May 14th, 1983. (3, is the answer) Or it contains the code to get 30 free lives in Contra on the NES.

But I do remember the some very important things.

I remember getting the pictures taken with both of our families. I remember sitting by myself in the little room just to the right of altar by myself, for what seemed like forever before they let me go and stand in the church. I remember sitting with Sarah during the ceremony with the only fan, in the un-air conditioned church, blowing on us and watching everyone sweat profusely as we sat there quite comfortably. I remember that we were never introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Glen Haag. I remember that we never got to kiss. I remember that we didn't have any of our own wedding cake. I remember how disappointed that I was that I didn't get to dance with my mother because it was so hot that she had to leave before they played our song. I remember being embarrassed at how drunk my father was by the time the reception ended. I remember getting to the hotel with my wife, still in her wedding gown, and having them ask her for ID to prove that she was the one that got married that day. I remember seeing Sarah sitting on the ground in front of our honeymoon suite, since she had to wait for me to go find my wallet for ID, so we could get into the room.

There are some other things that I remember that are more personal, and I’d like to selfishly keep those ones to myself.

I remember how much I loved her on that day.

Seven years later, we're on our way to having our first child, and I love her more than ever before.

It’s taken me a while to figure out what sign I should have picked up on from that day, but I think I have it now.

10 hours in those outfits, in a hundred degree weather?

Don’t ever get a job in the Tuxedo rental business. Boy, did I ever stink. Whew.